Coffee and Free Advice
by chubby redburn
Summary: Just a quiet conversation between Quinn and Trent circa February, post IICY.


**Disclaimer:**This is a work of fan fiction. There are no expectations of gain or claims of originality. All characters are the property of MTV and Viacom.

**Coffee and Free Advice**

Quinn spotted the lone figure slowly walking down the sidewalk as she got out of her compact car. The instinctive defensiveness of a young woman out at night sharpened her focus on the man even though she was in her own driveway. The tension that was the precursor to fight or flight, however, left her immediately when she recognized the man as Trent Lane, the brother of her sister's best friend and about as harmless as any male came.

"He cleans up good," Quinn mused as she eyed the ensemble that Trent was wearing. A tuxedo peeked out from the open top of a heavy black overcoat. A black fedora kept the few errant snowflakes that fell from the winter sky from his head. He had foregone the traditional shoes; choosing instead to wear a pair of highly polished boots.

It was only as he stepped fully into the light that Quinn noticed the sad, far away look in his eyes.

"Hi, Trent," she called out.

Trent snapped out of his fog when he heard his name. Confused he quickly scanned the area. After a moment, he realized where he was. Turning his eyes toward the voice, he perceived the vague outline of a person in the shadows.

"Daria?"

"Daria's sister, actually," Quinn corrected as she stepped forward into the light of the streetlamp.

"Oh, hi, ah, Quinn," Trent said lethargically.

Quinn was slightly surprised that he remembered her name.

"Why are you walking the streets at midnight wearing a tuxedo?" she asked

"My friend Jesse got married this afternoon," Trent replied. "I was the best man."

"Aren't you happy for him?"

"Yeah, of course," Trent said his astonishment at such a question evident in his voice. "He's a great guy and he just married a fantastic girl. They'll be one of the lucky couples who'll stay together forever; I'm sure of that."

"Then why do you look so sad?"

Trent shrugged. "Lotta things on my mind."

Quinn nodded. "It's cold out here. Come on inside and I'll make us some coffee and you can tell me what's troubling you."

"Thanks but I don't think so," Trent said.

"A burden shared is a burdened halved," Quinn quoted. "I won't pretend that I can solve your problems but it helps just to talk about them."

Trent looked at the slender teenager shivering in the stiff north wind. He had always had Janey as a sounding board in the past but she was now hundreds of miles away. It was far too late to call her and Trent was never comfortable talking on a telephone anyway. Maybe Quinn would prove to be a good listener.

"Sure," he relented finally. "Thanks."

With a nod and a smile, Quinn turned toward her house. Trent followed close behind as she carefully walked up the slick drive.

"You can hang your coat in there." Quinn said quietly as they entered the Morgendorffer home.

"It's wet," Trent said ignoring the closet she had pointed out.

"Use the coat tree by the door then," Quinn replied as she disappeared into the kitchen.

Trent closed the front door and frowned at the coat tree that stood just inside next to a tall cylindrical brass umbrella holder.

"Had that always been there?" he thought. He rummaged through the memories of the few times that he had been inside the Morgendorffer home but could not bring it to mind. He shrugged dismissing it from his thoughts as he draped his overcoat and hat over the wooden hooks.

"We're in luck," Quinn said as Trent entered the kitchen. "Dad left the pot on for me. Have a seat."

Trent sat down as Quinn busied herself with the coffee and poking around the pantry. Now that she had tossed her own coat over a chair at the end of the table Trent could see that she was wearing a simple but elegant white evening gown and high-heeled shoes. He did not know what the material was but it showed her slim shape favorably even if it was demure in its cut. Her long hair, somewhat mussed by the winter wind, fell well beyond her shoulders.

"I thought that you were some sort of health food nut," Trent said as she set a slice of coffee cake before him.

Quinn laughed. "You are blunt spoken, aren't you? No wonder Daria likes you so much. Do you want your coffee black or with creamer in it?"

"Black's fine. I didn't mean anything insulting," Trent said. "But I've heard you going on about the fat in pizza before."

Quinn placed the mugs on the table and slid into a chair across from Trent. The aroma of the coffee quickly filled the air. Trent sniffed appreciatively. Try as he might, he could never make more then an adequate cup of coffee.

Quinn kicked off her shoes with a sigh of pleasure. "I do watch what I eat but a bit of indulgence now and then is good for the psyche. Mental health is important too."

"I guess," Trent replied sipping his coffee. It was stout and the blend was one he had never tasted. "This is very good."

"Dad joined one of those coffee-of-the-month clubs," Quinn answered pushing her hair back from her eyes. "I'm never sure what's in the pot anymore but it is usually something worth drinking. It's what got me started on coffee in the first place."

Quinn plunged a fork into her cake. She was curious as to what had Trent wandering the streets at such a late hour but knew enough about people to know that he was the type to clam up under a barrage of questions.

"I'll let him set the pace," she thought. "The fact that he followed me in was indication that he wanted someone to talk to even if it was a near stranger such as me."

Trent polished off his piece of cake and poured himself a second mug before he said anything else.

"Did you have a date tonight?" he asked bashfully.

Quinn shook her head. "No, I was working. I'm a hostess at _Harborside_."

"That new restaurant by the marina?"

"That's the place," Quinn said. "The hours are long and the fact that management requires us to wear heels is murder but the money is good."

"Will you be leaving for college in the fall?" Trent asked.

"College, yes," Quinn replied. "Leaving, no."

"Huh?"

"There's no great mystery," Quinn said. "I have received a scholarship offer from _Lawndale State College_. It will pay for my tuition and books. Between that and what I make at my job, I can go to college and cover all my other expenses."

"I've spent the last several years trying to drive Mom and Dad and the boys I dated into bankruptcy catering to my whims," she continued. "It's embarrassing to think about it now so the idea of paying for my own education appeals to me even if it means staying here in Lawndale."

"There are worst places to be," Trent said quietly.

"To be sure there are," Quinn agreed. "Highland comes to mind. Anyway, how was the wedding? What was the design of the bride's gown?"

"It had lot of lace and showed a fair amount of cleavage," Trent replied at a loss as to how to describe it further. "As for the wedding, everything went smoothly. Everybody arrived on time and we all did what we were supposed to do correctly. No one proved to be a fighting or maudlin drunk at the reception."

"It sounds as if it was a perfect wedding, then," Quinn said approvingly.

"Yeah, I guess so," Trent answered as he peered down into his mug.

Quinn sensed an opening. "So what was it about the whole affair that set you to wandering the streets on such a cold night?"

"It's just that it closes a door on one part of my life and I have no idea where to go next," Trent replied after a moment.

Quinn frowned as she sipped her coffee. "I don't understand. Do you feel as if you're losing your friend?"

"No, nothing like that," Trent replied. "Jesse and me have been tight since grade school and Gloria's cool. She isn't the type to run off all of her husband's old friends. We'll still be a crew."

"Then I don't see a closed door," Quinn answered truthfully.

"The wedding was _Mystic Spiral's_ swan song," Trent said.

"Your band, right?"

"Yeah," Trent replied. "We're breaking up and everyone is moving on. Jesse's gonna be an apprentice plumber with Gloria's old man. Between work and the courses, he has to take at the tech school and him being a married man now, he won't have time for a band. Max, the drummer, begins training at the police academy next week and Nick, our bass player who's up to his eyeballs with child support payments, finally got his CDL and will soon be a long haul trucker."

"And Trent?" Quinn asked.

"And Trent has no idea what to do with himself," he answered with a miserable sigh. "I'll be twenty-four years old in a few weeks but I still live like I did in high school. I never went to college. I've never had a real job. And now with Janey in Boston, I'm rattling around a huge house like a single bean in a can."

Quinn reached across the table and gently laid her hand over his. "Sometimes it's easier to figure out what you don't want to do and work from there. Do you want to leave Lawndale?"

Trent shifted in his chair. "Every other Lane has fled from here but no, I like Lawndale; its home for me. Maybe I just don't like change but I can't see myself living anywhere else."

"Well, that's a start," Quinn said. "You can eliminate going away for a job or college or the military."

"The military isn't an option," Trent said. "I'm red/green colorblind so the army won't take me."

Quinn blinked at that revelation. "It must be difficult to be colorblind in a family of artists."

"Not all the Lanes are artists but the difficulty for me is I can't fully appreciate Janey's painting," Trent said sadly. "It's so important to her yet some of it is simply meaningless to me."

"Are you going to start another band?" Quinn asked moving away from what seemed to be a painful subject for Trent.

Trent took a long sip of coffee before answering. "I'm not sure. I enjoy playing and being on stage when the crowd's really into it but the truth of the matter is that I'm not that good of a singer, a songwriter or a musician."

"How can that be?" a puzzled Quinn asked. "Haven't you earned a living as a professional musician for several years now?"

"Not that much of a living," Trent laughed derisively. "Besides, alternative is a lot like punk was in the seventies. Attitude was, for many fans, more important then musicianship. I can slam a few chords and scream into a mic. I have the required tattoos, ear rings, and facial hair but that act gets stale after a while."

"I have never heard you play so I am going to have to accept your word about your skill," Quinn said delicately.

Trent smiled for the first time since they had begun talking. "So you still have your hearing," he joked.

"Well, _Boys R Guys _aren't noted for their ear rupturing guitar riffs," she answered drowsily.

"Hey, you're tired and I'm just keeping you up," Trent said as he quickly stood.

Quinn also rose from her chair as she stifled a yawn. "It's all right. You looked as if you needed someone to talk too."

"Yeah, I guess I did at that. Any advice?" Trent asked before the incongruity of asking counsel of a teenage girl hit him.

"I wouldn't give up on music if that is your passion," Quinn said seriously, as she took his arm and led him back into the living room. "But you should get a day job. That'll get you out of a lonely house and into the company of others."

"Plus make some money," Trent added.

"Always helpful," Quinn said with a tiny laugh. "You might want to take some courses at _L.S.C._ There are a lot of older students who attend classes out there."

"I'm not that old," Trent complained as he put on his overcoat.

"No," Quinn agreed with a sleepy grin. "But neither are you eighteen."

"Anything else?" Trent asked.

"Just keep practicing your guitar and spend some time hanging out where ever it is that you musicians congregate. Maybe you will find the right people with whom to form another band. If nothing else, you'll have other musicians with whom to jam." Quinn said as she straightened his hat.

"I never really practice all that regularly," Trent admitted sheepishly.

"Well, you should start to do so then," Quinn said. "You never know when opportunity will knock."

Trent stepped through the door and then turned back. "You've been helpful."

"Thank you," Quinn answered.

"No, I'm the one who is grateful," Trent said. "I was feeling sorry for myself just a little while ago. Now, well, I feel better anyway. You aren't the selfish brat I thought you were."

"I was," she replied marveling at the lanky guitarist unselfconscious honesty. "But some of us do grow up eventually,"

"Yeah," Trent said. "Maybe it's time I did."

He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Thanks for listening, Quinn."

"Anytime," She said as he walked away into the darkness of early morning.

**_A/N:_** Yes, I realize that there are many fine musicians in the Alterative Rock genre but there are others within the genre that could clear Hamelin quicker then the Pied Piper ever hoped to. In the video age, style can override substance unfortunately.


End file.
